Seven Weeks
by Kalico37
Summary: More than seven weeks ago, Blake and Ruby left us for Joint Duty abroad. So what have Yang and I been up to in that time? Sure, we still fight, but we have some fun nights. It's all kept honest, though. I should know. We've set the rules. We know that when they come back, things just go back to normal. What could go wrong? Freezerburn one-shot. Rated T, because that's my thing.


**I finally have my first standalone RWBY short story for you. Why is it standalone, and not a part of Different Shades of Life? You'll see.**

**The following ****story is told from Weiss's point of view.**

* * *

My mouth feels dry, and a warm breeze is circulating in the room through the open window.

This summer has been irritating. That's the only word for it. _Irritating_. (I think that's a word I use a lot, especially as of late.)

The sun beats down during the early afternoon, and the heat continues to pulsate into the evening. There's some welcome respite from about 6.30 PM onwards, which no one ever has enough time to enjoy since we have lights-out at about 8.00 PM. Then we wake up early – like I am now – and it's already warm. It's an irritating cycle of unpleasantness for roughly three months. I much prefer the cooler climate, not too cold, but a mild temperature, bordering on a so-called "normalcy". Similarly, I do not appreciate deep winter, when my skin somehow manages to turn a hue paler, and my borderline-numb hands tingle when I thrust them under a jet of should-be-scalding water. When it comes to weather, give it to me boring and simple and mild. Unfortunately, I find that my reputation as an "ice-princess" precedes me whenever this topic is brought up.

There is stirring beside me, and suddenly I become all too aware of the situation. Why are we not at classes? Oh right, it's Wednesday, and the classes start later on Wednesdays. Where are Ruby and Blake? Oh right, they have Joint Duty abroad – at this point, they've been away about seven weeks.

Okay, trivial information out of the way. Now, here's a couple of head-scratchers for you, Weiss: Why are you sharing a bed with Yang, and why are you both stripped down to your underwear?

Oh right, because we spent the night alternating between yelling at each other and… _with_… each other…

Ugh. This has been going on since the other two left, and still, it never fails to gross me out.

"Mm. Morning."

Ah, there she is. If I'm the ice-princess, then she is the resident sun. In fact, maybe her presence is amplifying this summer heat. It's an odd theory, but…

"I said _morning_."

I glare at her. "So?" I throw off the thin sheet, and jump down from the bed. I notice her glance away, a small scowl playing across her face.

"… So nothing."

I sigh under my breath, and traipse toward the bathroom with all sorts of snide comments forming in my throat. My dry, summer-affected throat. I could turn and snap any one of them at her, like yesterday or the day before.

Instead, I say, "I'm taking a shower," like it's an offer for her to press up closer to me under a jet of pulsing water.

And I am offering. As for why, I'm not quite sure. There aren't really any deep-seeded affections in this thing between us. And I'm sure that in another hour or so, we'll be yelling at each other like the most bitter of enemies.

But maybe that's it. Maybe I'm offering because I want her to be with me at least once this morning before we start attacking each other. Because then it gives me something… well, not positive, necessarily, but just _something _to remember after we go through our undoubtedly inevitable blowout.

Sometimes I wonder if she's ever had these kinds of thoughts. Just looking at her, I doubt it very much. Does she care, at all? It's not like it'll hurt my feelings or anything like that if she doesn't. But considering that we've been sleeping together for the seven weeks our partners have been gone so far, I don't think it's necessarily uncouth of me to want to know these things.

Yang isn't someone whom one would consider good at keeping her cards close to her generous chest, but she hasn't raised any of this with me before. And whenever I brought it up, it just seemed to lead to yelling and making out. Not necessarily in that order.

The last big spat like that was about four or five days ago. And after our throats were raw, and our faces red, we moved on. How did we do that? Well, it was hot.

She must also be chasing something worth remembering as well. She must also be anticipating a blowout coming in the next hour. How do I know this for sure? Because she follows me into the bathroom.

A refreshing shower later and I can feel the seams beginning to strain. The warning signs are all there; I'm being my usual difficult self, she's being her usual brash and loud self.

And it's not even time for breakfast yet.

After one such exchange, we sit in silence for a couple of minutes, cooling off, until she looks up at me from an unfinished essay. "Hey, _Sweetie?_"

I'm polishing Myrtenaster, and I briefly pause to scowl at her. She knows I hate that nickname. I don't even know how she got the idea to start calling me by it.

"What?"

"Do you think the cafeteria would be open by now?"

"It doesn't open for another hour yet. You know this. Why would you even need to ask me?"

She shrugs. "I'm hungry." Then she smirks and her eyebrows go up and down. "That shower really got me feeling peckish, you know."

If she's trying to irk me, she's doing a great job so far. I have a number of set rules for our "arrangement", and one of them is that we don't talk about our more _intimate _moments. There is no need, and it only leads to awkward silences. After all, it's not like we're romantically involved. This is just a thing that came out of nowhere, and I'm certain it will pass as soon as Blake and Ruby return.

I toss the polishing cloth – it's not a rag, it's a _polishing cloth – _at her. She swipes at it, missing completely, and it falls to the floor. I stare at the polishing cloth – not her. "Go down there, then. Wait outside the doors. But don't expect me to come with you."

She leans down to pick up the polishing cloth, and throws it back at me. It flails in the air, and ends up falling short by a foot or so. I make a disgruntled noise in the back of my throat, and go over to pick it up.

"I'll wait," she says, somewhat flatly, and returns to her essay.

I stare at the back of her head, wondering, just for a moment, why she really wanted to bring this up to me.

* * *

The day drags on, as do the classes. Things have been uneventful, but in a dull sense, rather than an organized sense, since the other girls left. With them, I felt like I needed to set an example, especially for the younger Ruby. I'd sit with my back straight, and take notes on just about all of what our professors spewed out. Now, without that example to set – because, let's be honest, Yang doesn't give one hoot what I do in class – I actually pay greater attention to what they're saying. And then I think, _what is happening,_ because I realize that most of what they're saying is just trivial advice, and doesn't actually warrant my having to take notes.

So these days, in class, without the example to set, without the educational motivation, I just sit and tap my pen against the desk. Yang occasionally glances over to me, but never says anything. Sometimes, she nudges me whenever it's blatantly obvious that I'm spacing out. I always mutter, "Thank you," for her efforts.

Our last class of the day winds up, and I'm out the door, ready to decompress and prepare for a night of studying. Yang, who usually hangs back to walk with Nora or someone like that, sidles up beside me as I walk down the hall.

"Hey," she says.

"Yang," I reply. "Is there something you need?"

She shakes her head. "No. Just thought I'd walk back to the room with you."

I peer over at her. "Okay."

"Why? Is that weird?"

"It's unusual. You normally don't want to spend time with me when it's not necessary."

She shrugs. "Maybe I want things to be different."

We walk the rest of the way in silence, her words reverberating in my head. What does she mean, different? Is she talking about us? There isn't even an "us" to talk about. Maybe she's misread the situation? It's been seven weeks, after all. I suppose I could understand, but I can't relate. I just don't feel that way. But what can I say? What if _I'm _the one misreading the situation? I can't just bring up a topic like this so randomly, so suddenly. But in any case, I think I now have to deal with this. Very soon.

I keep coming back to her words. _Maybe I want things to be different._

* * *

That night, I'm fine-tuning a report on The Effective Use of Blah-Blah-Blah. I'm moving along at a fair pace with this final edit, as expected, of course.

I'm on the fifth page out of six, when Yang walks in from the bathroom. Joy. Better yet, she's only wearing a towel, wrapped around her bust.

"What do you think you're wearing around me?!" I exclaim.

Her face flickers with annoyance. "I'm wearing a towel."

"Exactly. Put some clothes on, already."

"What's the big deal?" she mutters, more to herself, but still within earshot. "You never care what I'm wearing when we're bed-"

"Shut up!" I stand, glaring at her. "I've told you that we don't talk about this stuff. I've told you consistently, for seven weeks, that this is just a flash in the pan thing. I thought you knew by now, what the deal was! You told me that you understood. And today, you start walking with me after class, saying you _want things to be different?_ What the hell is that supposed to be?! I'm not sure you understand anymore, Yang. So let me remind you, _for the last time, _that _this,"_ I say, gesturing around the entire room, "cannot be anything other than what it already is. And when the others come back, _this_ will go away, and things will return to normal. Got it?"

She's silent for a bit, and I think that maybe, she's actually taking my rant into consideration. "Is that what you really feel," she eventually says, "or are you just picking a fight because we're actually getting along lately?"

I gawp at her, dumbfounded, unable to think of a cohesive answer, or a reason why she doesn't seem to be taking any of this seriously. Eventually, after a good five or ten seconds of mental scrabbling, I stomp over to the wardrobe and pull her nightclothes out, throwing them at her. "Just put some damn clothes on, will you?!"

She stares at me, long and hard, not making any moves to pick up the clothes that she didn't bother catching. She just stares at me as I huff and puff with a mad, red face, until I can't stand the sight of her anymore.

I turn away as a frustrated scream rips itself from my throat, and I storm out of the room, making sure to slam the door loud and clear behind me. In my mind, I imagine her shocked face, flinching at the sound. I imagine JNPR across the hall all looking simultaneously at the direction of the sound, discomfort evident on their faces. Good, I think. I don't care!

* * *

I wake up the next morning in my own bed, without Yang. It's been some time since that last happened.

Of course, she slept in her own bed as well. When I returned to the room, which was about 40 minutes after my explosion, she was already asleep, and the lights were all out. That was fine. I was in no mood to share a bed with her anyway. I just quickly changed into my nightgown and went to sleep myself.

So I wake up at about 7.00 AM. I lie awake in bed for another half hour, or as long as it takes for me to guess that Yang isn't awake yet. I roll out of bed once I reach this conclusion, and sneak a glance over at her bunk. I was right. She's sleeping, as far as I can tell, which is fine with me right now. I _do not _want to talk to her, I _do not _want to have an awkward, silent interaction. Ruby and Blake are due back in a couple of days. That's it. I survive two days, and this seven-week-nightmare can finally come to an end.

I make my way to the bathroom, doing my best to not look in the direction of her bed.

After seven weeks of sharing the shower, it seems awfully big and lonely, with just me in here.

* * *

In class, we sit on opposite sides of the classrooms. Or rather, she sits in her usual spot, and I sit four rows back, or in front, or whatever. It seems over the top, but it works. I don't want to be around her right now. It's just too frustrating, and awkward, and embarrassing for me.

After I finished up in the shower, I went back to our room, and found it empty. So Yang had gotten up and out before I finished. How considerate of her. For some reason, part of my mind told me to look out the window, so I did, and there she was outdoors, just setting off for a run. I remember her going for a run only one other time since Blake and Ruby left. That was after the night she spent bugging me with her analogies and observations and ridiculously-bad jokes, and I refused to sleep with her. But we'd made up shortly after.

This is different though, and I know that. This isn't something that can be swept under the rug by a night of carnal activity. This is something that, if we were together, would have to solved by a deep talk. But, since this is all going to end soon, nuts to that! I'm sure that she'll forget about this once her sister and her partner are back, and things can go back to normal, right?

You know, I'm not so sure anymore.

The bell rings, signaling the end of our second-to-last class of the day. I rise, and gather my stationery. As I do, something compels me to look up. I don't know why though, because now I'm locking eyes with Yang, all of a sudden. Her expression is blank, not betraying any emotion she's feeling about the situation. I'm not as graceful; I'm sure my eyes widen as the moment lengthens, and my mouth drops slightly open. I almost speak her name. I almost wish that I was there with her, side-by-side.

Then, all too soon, she gathers her own things together, and leaves the classroom. She also leaves me with a fleeting feeling of longing, wondering that maybe, things might not actually be able to go back to normal.

* * *

As the night comes, it also becomes clear to me that Yang has thrown out the idea of avoiding me. In a strange twist, we are now hanging out in the dorm room, and she's _trying to talk to me._

And I don't know why, but I'm still choosing to ignore her. Is it just because I've got it on my mind that things might be changing between us, and I'd rather not openly discuss it? That would be a fun conversation. Not once does she try to delve into the situation between us. And every time I sense her opening her mouth, I feel a prick of dread that the next thing she says will be about it, and I'll have to confront these sudden feelings.

Here's a snippet of what our terse, one-sided exchanges look like:

**Yang: **Hey, Weiss?

**Weiss: **…

**Yang: **Have you ever been walking around in Vale and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But then you can't just do a 180 and walk back the way you came, so you have to pretend to check your phone or something before you turn around so no one around you thinks you're crazy? I've done that, sure, but I'll tell you now, I'm nowhere near as bad as Ruby!

No response to that, it's fair to say. Another, about twenty minutes later:

**Yang: **You know, there's one thing I've always wondered about those fancy dinners and galas you must go to _all _the time...

**Weiss: ***stares distantly at the wall*

**Yang: **How many times do you find yourself just smiling and nodding at people when they start telling you something _super _lame or ridiculous, because you don't want to offend them by saying, "What are you on about?"

After coming back down to Remnant and realizing what she'd asked, I was tempted to respond to that one, but only because there is a legitimate figure. Oh yes, I've kept count.

Anyway, after some time, we're sitting in silence, occupied by academic obligations and whatnot. Her last attempt to stir me into pointless, random conversation came and went 10 minutes ago. I can feel my mood lightening considerably. I'm feeling good. I'm getting work done, and she seems to have given up on me, which is only a positive thing, in the context of the bull she was spouting. Part of me actually wished that she would prod our feelings into the open, so that I wouldn't have to hear any more odd theories about life in the city.

I can't help but feel, though, that she's doing this for a reason. I can't put my finger on what it is. Maybe she just wants to know I'm alive. Maybe, she's just trying to stir me up, to get a reaction out of me. But that thought in particular just makes me feel terrible, like she's a little puppy and I'm trying to kick her away. Wow.

I am not able to ruminate much further, though, because a strong pair of arms wrap around me and pull me out of my chair.

I can't help it: I kick and swing my arms around. "YANG! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! PUT ME DOWN THIS-MMF!" That sound, of course, is the sound of me trying to speak through the hand which she is now clamping around my mouth.

She's fine, though. "Weiss, please calm down," she says.

After five seconds, I get tired of squirming, and sick of the taste of her palm. She lays me down on my bed, and sits next to me.

I turn away from her. "I have nothing I want to say to you." Lie. What an absolute lie. Look at this awful liar who kicks puppies. There is _so_ much I want to say and admit to her right now. But it all wants to come out at once, and I'd rather not be the victim of verbal diarrhea.

But I can tell she wants me to spill my guts, and open up, because she says, "What's wrong, Sweetie?"

I feel part of my face twitch. I mumble something unintelligible under my breath. I can't talk to her like this.

"Sweetie?"

I swing my arm around, fully intent on knocking her out, but she catches my arm. She holds it until the tension loosens, when she just lets it drop. I feel like my arm was just violated.

"Weiss? I'm sorry I broke the rules, okay? But that's no reason for you to be avoiding like me this."

I say nothing, feeling my heart trying to beat and drum its way through my ribcage.

She sighs and lies down next to me, slipping an arm over my side. I feel an immediately calming warmth at the contact. "I understand that you don't want this to grow into something else. Because, then, how do we explain it? Part of me thinks you're right, that it would be better to just play this out and go back to the way things were once the others come back. But it's just... it's been almost two months, by ourselves, now. I can't spend every day going through the same routine with you. All the fighting and sloppy making-up, it's just too extreme, believe it or not. I don't know about you, though. Maybe you like this thing where we yell at each other in the morning and make each other yell at night, but I don't anymore."

I don't look at her. I secretly enjoy the feel of her hand resting on my side, like it's holding me steady, like it's covering a crack. "Are you finding this arrangement unsustainable?" I ask quietly. The words, "as well," I choke down before I slip up.

"Well, I'm tired of it, that's what. I need more than this 'arrangement.' I think I want to be with you."

I have to shut my eyes, to keep the tears of realized fear from spilling over and clawing at my cheeks. I take a deep breath, and clear my throat. "We set the rules from the beginning. I thought we were clear-"

"I thought so too!" she interrupts, her hand now slowly moving along my side. "But it's all changed, Weiss, you gotta realize that. Even when Blake and Ruby come back, it's not going back to the way it was. Am I supposed to just forget what I want? It's too late. It's all fucked up now."

I couldn't agree more. "What do you want to do about it, then?"

She lifts her hand off my side, to my displeasure. She finds my hand, and grasps it. "I don't know," she admits. "I can't go through with this, I want more, you don't want more... what are we supposed to do?"

I gently roll onto my back, so that if I look sideways, or turn my head to the right, I can see her distressed, gorgeous face. "If there's one thing you can do right now, you can stop beating herself up. It's not just you, okay? So don't get so 'poor me' about it, alright?"

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

I look at her, a silent plea in my eyes. _Please don't make me say it. Please. I'm worried that if I say it, then it will be true. Then there will be no going back._

But my pleas go unheeded. "Weiss, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

The words fail me. They die in my throat as I open and close my mouth. So I just nod. I nod, and bury my head into her shoulder. My face crumples as the tears finally come forth. They roll out of my closed eyes and soak her skin.

She holds my head to her the whole time, running her hand slowly down the back of my head. It feels so soothing, but it makes me sad, because, surely, this is something that can't last, can it?

"It's okay," she whispers to me. "It's okay. We'll figure this out. We'll figure out where we go from here."

"How am I supposed to explain this?" I whimper, ungraciously. "I have a future to protect. My father won't tolerate me being with someone like you."

"Like I said, we'll figure this out."

"How?" I look at her with angry pools in my eyes. "How do we go on from here? Even if I want to be with you, I can't! That's just the way it is."

"Why don't you at least give us a chance? We won't know anything for sure until we've tried."

I look at her with big eyes. "You could end up getting hurt. I know now that I don't want that to happen because of me."

She flashes me a wry, toothy grin. "I'll risk it."

"Are you sure? I'll understand if it scares you. If you want, we can just go back. I'm sure that, given our best, we can make it back."

"No. I think we can't deny it anymore. This _is _happening, right now. There's no going back from here, like it or not. And you know what?" she says, quieting her voice. "I don't wanna go back."

I must admit, it's a compelling argument.

"But anyway," she whispers into my hair, "it's getting late. We can talk more in the morning. Do you want me to sleep here tonight?"

Rather than say anything, I snake my arms around her, and pull her closer. I feel that action speaks for itself.

She kisses the crown of my head. "Alright, then. And am I forgiven for breaking the rules?"

I can't help but chuckle at that. I feel her smile, and something tells me... we'll figure this out as we move forward. We'll be alright.

* * *

**I'll admit, this story took a turn, to a place I wasn't expecting. A more... hopeful place. But that's fine. I'm happy with this finished product, especially when this story has been on the backburner for 4 months now. I'm glad to get it out there, finally.**

**P.S. Hit me up on Tumblr, at Kalico37. Gotta keep the plugs coming.**

**... Truly Yours, Kalico.**


End file.
